


hooray for the madness

by seimaisin



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-02
Updated: 2008-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunken shenanigans always have consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hooray for the madness

“Brendon!”

Spencer’s voice is loud. Even though he has no drink in his hand, Brendon can tell he’s drunk by the way he’s walking, with small steps rather than his usual long stride. He mentally revises “drunk” to “oh my god, totally wasted” when Spencer deposits himself in the booth next to Brendon, rather than in the empty seat across from him. “Hi, Spence,” Brendon says, giggling as Spencer’s arm winds around his shoulders.

“Hi, Brendon! What are you doing over here alone?” Spencer’s other hand rests heavily on Brendon’s thigh, and Spencer leans so that his face is inches from Brendon’s. “You should be doing …” Spencer trails off, his mouth twisted in a petulant scowl. Then, he grins that grin that splits his entire face and never fails to make Brendon’s heart clog up his throat. “Karaoke!” Spencer announces proudly, having found the word he was searching for.

“Nah, it’s way more fun to listen to Joe butcher Journey songs, for real.” Brendon pokes Spencer’s side. He enjoys the feel of springy softness just above the waist of Spencer’s pants. Spencer is good at cuddling, and Brendon, well, he’s not so much sober himself, so he lays his head on Spencer’s shoulder and lets out a soft, satisfied sound when Spencer starts petting his thigh. “Why don’t you go up there and favor us with some Backstreet Boys, dude?”

Spencer starts to laugh – no, giggle, like a fucking girl, and the vibration of his body sets Brendon off, too. It gets worse when Spencer starts singing, just loud enough for Brendon to hear. “I’ll never breeeeaaaak your heaaaaaart, I’ll never maaaaaake you cryyyyyyy …” Brendon is laughing so hard he’s afraid he might piss himself, or something, because man those Jack & Cokes really go through you.

However, it’s a totally different penis-related bodily function he starts worrying about when Spencer presses his face into the curve of Brendon’s neck and fucking licks him. “Spence?” he manages, his voice strangled, the giggles gone.

Spencer, however, is still laughing, even as he’s kissing a path up Brendon’s neck. This – this has never happened, except once or twice or seventeen times in Brendon’s dreams, and wow, maybe he just passed out in the booth? That has to be it; soon, Zack will shake him awake and just start laughing at Brendon’s inconvenient erection from dreaming about what Spencer’s beard would feel like tickling against his collarbone. In this really awesome dream, though, Spencer is still petting Brendon’s thigh, his hand getting almost close enough to feel precisely where all of Brendon’s blood has rushed off to. Brendon makes a noise – what kind, he doesn’t know, but he can feel it in his chest. Spencer must hear, because he sinks his teeth lightly into Brendon’s skin – Brendon sees sparks, swear to god, wow – before sucking gently on the offending spot.

Then, Spencer’s mouth is gone, and Brendon whimpers without meaning to. He turns his head slightly to see Spencer staring at him, eyes heavy-lidded and mouth shiny and wet. Brendon feels himself lick his lips. Before he can draw a breath, Spencer’s mouth is covering his.

Oh. Oh oh oh. Brendon’s brain shuts down. Spencer’s mouth is hot and sloppy and Brendon can’t do much more than fist a hand in Spencer’s shirt and hang on for dear life. The kiss lasts a long time – seconds, minutes, hours, whatever - before Spencer is suddenly jerked away. Brendon looks up to see Zack, with twin Ryans - that’s scary, he seems to have multiplied sometime during the night – standing over his shoulder. “Leave me ‘lone,” Spencer mutters, but he’s pliant when Zack tugs him to his feet.

The Ryans, meanwhile, stare daggers at Brendon. “When did you get a twin?” Brendon mutters. “That’s not fair, one of you is way too much for me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Get up.” A Ryan grabs his arm. Brendon must be drunker than he thought, because Ryan shouldn’t be able to drag him out of the booth. Momentum forces Brendon to stumble into Ryan, who nearly falls over. Brendon starts to laugh, which forces Ryan to grab his arm harder. “Shut up, you asshole, we need to get the fuck out of here. What the hell were you doing?” Ryan’s voice isn’t any more than a hiss – he has to lean close to Brendon to be heard over the sound of some girl singing “Fancy” – but Brendon feels the question like an ice pick in his skull.

Brendon opens his mouth to answer, but when he does, he feels the Jack Daniels rising in his throat. “Blurgh,” is the sound he makes when he closes his mouth again, before dragging Ryan in the direction of the men’s room.

He barely makes it in time. When they emerge – Ryan stone-faced, Brendon feeling like he’s about to die – Zack and Spencer are nowhere to be seen. Brendon is disappointed and relieved, right up until the moment he passes out in the cab.

 

Brendon wakes up the next morning face down in his pillow, with a hand shaking his shoulder. “Wake up, dude, wake up, you have to see this, wake up.” The voice belongs to Jon, and Brendon swats at him ineffectively. “No, really, wake up. Seriously.”

Groaning, Brendon pushes himself into a sitting position. Jon is perched on the edge of his bed – oh, yeah, they’d shared a hotel room last night, Brendon had forgotten – with his laptop open in his hand. “What?” Brendon asks, rubbing his eyes.

“Look at this.” Jon turns the laptop screen to face Brendon. He has his browser open to YouTube – the title on the pages says, in bold capital letters, “BRENDON AND SPENCER KISS!!!”

“Fuck,” Brendon breathes.

“Yeah, look.” Jon presses play, and sure enough. The footage is grainy, obviously from a cell phone, but it’s clear enough to make out both his face and Spencer’s, just before they’d locked lips the night before. And then, yeah, there’s the kiss, in all its drunken glory. Brendon watches as Spencer’s hand slides up into his hair, remembering the feeling of lips sliding against each other, and … fuck, it’s morning, he’s got an excuse for being hard right now, doesn’t he?

Brendon collapses back into his pillow face-first. “Fuck,” he repeats.

Jon must understand, even through the pillow, because he just pats Brendon on the head.

 

There’s a chill on the bus that has nothing to do with air conditioning. Brendon sets his backpack down on his bunk and ventures back to the lounge. He stops short when he sees Spencer and Ryan, who are clearly having one of their deep conversations that involve a lot of half-sentences and vague phrases that don’t mean anything to anyone who isn’t them. Usually, when he comes across these conversations, Brendon says something stupid like “the crow flies at midnight, assholes, scoot over,” and inserts himself on the couch between them. But, from the extremely panicked look on Spencer’s face, this particular nonsense conversation probably revolves around him, so Brendon just turns on his heel and heads back to the front of the bus. Once there, he sits at the table and drops his head onto his arms.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there. He hears footsteps pass him – Ryan, he learned to tell the sound of his band’s steps apart a long time ago, thanks to too many hours spent on a bus like this – and wonders where Spencer is. Maybe, he thinks, it’ll be possible to just avoid Spencer for the entire bus ride. However long that might be. “Where the hell are we going today?” he tries to call to the bus driver, but he’d have to lift his head to make the guy hear him, and that seems like too much effort. So, he just asks the table underneath him.

“Hell if I know,” Spencer’s voice answers. Brendon jumps, and yeah, he shrieks a little. Spencer scared him! He’s almost embarrassed, but then he looks up and sees Spencer’s too-serious face relax into a small smile. Being kind of an idiot is worth it if it makes Spencer not frown.

Spencer slides into the seat across from Brendon. “So,” Brendon says, resting his chin on his hands.

“So.” Spencer takes a deep breath, and Brendon watches his chest rise and fall. “What the fuck happened last night?”

Brendon stares for a minute. _We made out and it was awesome and I kinda want to do it again_ is probably not the smart answer, he figures, as true as it might be. Spencer is staring at Brendon’s face – somewhere lower than his eyes, somewhere in the vicinity of his mouth, and yeah, that isn’t helping at all. Spencer looks tired, with circles under his eyes and a nearly white face. His lips, though, are pink and gorgeous and Brendon really just wants to get up and climb into Spencer’s lap and cuddle him until he feels better. But, unfortunately, that’s probably not the correct answer, either. “We were drunk,” he settles on. It sounds lame, even to his ears.

“Yeah, we were.” Spencer pushes his hair out of his face and closes his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Brendon decides to just get the whole thing fucking over with.

“So, yeah, it’s up on the internet. It’s kind of grainy, though, and it’s hard to tell anything but the fact that we kissed for a few seconds.” Not that Brendon watched it multiple times or anything. Honest. “And it’s not like guys on our label aren’t prone to kissing other guys for the hell of it, right? So if we just play it off, we’ll be fine, right? Big joke, ha ha, whatever, it’ll all blow over soon. Right?”

It will all blow over, and Brendon can go back to being Spencer’s friend, someone who only thinks about the perfection of his mouth and his hands when he’s alone in his bunk, when he’s fairly sure no one’s awake to listen to him think about it.

Spencer stands up suddenly. “Yeah, you’re right. It’ll just go away. We’ll be fine.” He doesn’t look at Brendon as he turns around and walks off the bus.

Brendon’s pretty much positive he said the right thing. So, he thinks, why does he feel like dog shit? He lays his head back down on the table. “Life fucking sucks sometimes,” he tells the fake wood underneath his hands.

 

Three girls mention the YouTube video during the meet and greet that night. Spencer has apparently invoked his inalienable right as a drummer to not talk – he made up that rule back during their first tour, and he falls back on it whenever necessary – so Brendon is left to deflect attention. “Total fake,” he tells the first girl, smiling his most charming smile. “Two guys who totally look like us, I swear.” The second one, he gives a chastising look to. “And what were you doing wasting time on the internet, young lady?” She stammers long enough for Zack to hurry her through the line. Brendon loves being intimidating sometimes.

By the time the third one rolls around, though, Brendon is tired of being on his guard, and kind of pissed that everyone else seems to be letting him take all the crazy people. So, when the girl asks, “Hey, didn’t you kiss Spencer?” he responds, “Sure I did, wouldn’t you kiss Spencer if you had the opportunity?”

A dozen pairs of eyes stare openly at him. Naturally, this has to be the quietest moment of the meet and greet. That’s just his luck. Brendon plasters his most innocent smile on his face and looks the girl in the eye as he hands her CD booklet back to her. Luckily, this is another one without any wit to speak of, so she simply shuffles over to Ryan, who immediately asks her about her vintage Beatles t-shirt. Nice save, asshole, too late, Brendon thinks uncharitably as he reaches for the t-shirt the next girl is handing him.

He’s pretty sure Spencer looks over at him at least four times during the rest of the signing. He doesn’t know for sure, though, because he’s doing his level best not to look at Spencer at all.

 

Before the show, Brendon finds an empty dressing room and sits in the corner, his chin on his knees. “This sucks,” he announces to the empty room. Spencer’s not talking to him, Ryan is apparently also pissed – and he can fuck off, yeah, he and Spencer have the creepy twin bond thing, which means Ryan is contractually obligated to take Spencer’s side of everything, but doesn’t anyone but Brendon remember that _Spencer_ kissed _him_? – and Jon has decided to emphatically Stay Out Of It. Which leaves Brendon to suffer alone. Totally unfair.

It would all blow over, he told himself again. It wasn’t that big of a deal, everyone would forget about it. “Except,” he said aloud, softly, “it is a big deal.” Because, quite frankly, Brendon’s been in love with Spencer _forever_ , and he’s probably never going to get another chance. Because Spencer obviously doesn’t have any interest when he’s sober, and that sucks. “That sucks beyond the telling,” he mutters.

“What sucks? And who are you talking to?”

Brendon yelps. Spencer seems to have that effect on him today. “Fuck,” he sighs. “Go away.”

Spencer slides down the wall and sits next to him. “You’re not very good at following directions,” Brendon mutters, and lets his head fall backward onto the wall. Spencer snorts and scoots over enough that he’s pressed against Brendon’s side. Brendon’s skin immediately heats up, and he wants to lay his head on Spencer’s shoulder. It’s pretty much a Herculean effort to keep from wrapping himself around Spencer’s body, really. A day ago, he wouldn’t have hestitated. “This sucks,” he says again. He doesn’t mean to say it aloud, but it escapes, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Spencer wince.

They sit there for a minute, silent, before Spencer clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“What?” Brendon turns his head to look at Spencer. Spencer’s looking down at his hands, which are picking imaginary lint off of his jeans.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeats. “Last night, it was my fault, I shouldn’t have …”

Spencer’s face is serious, and Brendon wants to tell him it’s all right, shit happens, that they can forget about it. He wants to laugh it off, say something stupid so that Spencer can smack him in the arm and everything can return to normal. But, what comes out of his mouth is, “Why’d you do it?” It wasn’t what he intended to say, not by a long shot, but he kind of really, really wants to know.

When Spencer’s eyes jerk over to Brendon’s face, Brendon wishes he could take the question back. But, he can’t, so he holds his breath while he watches some unnamed emotion flit across Spencer’s face. Spencer takes a deep breath. “Well, I guess I … I was …”

When he trails off, Brendon laughs humorlessly and finishes his sentence. “Drunk. Yeah, we established that earlier, remember?”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” Spencer scowls. “You know, fuck it. I kissed you because I wanted to. I know you did it just because you were drunk, and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it.”

Brendon blinks. “Wait, what?” He must have heard wrong, he thinks. He must be hallucinating this, having an elaborate daydream to make himself feel better. Because there’s no way Spencer just said … “Because you wanted to?”

When he finally focuses again, Spencer’s cheeks are flushed bright pink. “Listen, Brendon, I really kind of wanted to kiss you, and I took advantage of the fact that you were drunk. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Brendon figures he’s lost his mind. And if he’s lost it enough to have visions, he thinks, he might as well enjoy his own madness. So, he quits thinking and interrupts Spencer with a kiss.

The angle is awkward, but Brendon buries his hand in Spencer’s hair to hold him as close as possible. It only takes a split second for Spencer to respond, twisting his body so that he’s kneeling on the floor next to Brendon and licking Brendon’s mouth open. Oh. Yeah. If this is madness, Brendon thinks weakly, he’s never going back to sanity. Spencer’s hands are on his neck, cradling his head, and he tastes faintly like Coke and cinnamon gum. Their tongues fight for position for a moment, until Spencer takes control and sucks Brendon’s tongue into his mouth and Brendon’s brain short-circuits. He wraps his free arm around Spencer’s torso and tries to pull him closer. Not that they can get much closer, but Spencer’s knee slips a little and he nearly ends up in Brendon’s lap. He puts a hand on the wall behind Brendon to re-balance himself, and they break apart.

“Um,” Brendon says, watching Spencer’s eyes, only inches away from his own, re-focus.

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, releasing a warm breath onto Brendon’s face.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Brendon blurts. You know, just to be safe.

“Nope. You?”

“Haven’t had a fucking drop since last night.”

“Oh.” Spencer pauses for a moment. “Good.”

And then his mouth is on Brendon’s again, and Brendon gives up on his brain entirely.

***

During the show, while Ryan is trying to instruct the audience about the proper form for jazz hands, Brendon looks back at Spencer and grins.

Spencer blows him a kiss.

Flashbulbs erupt in the front row, but Brendon can’t be bothered to care.


End file.
